Portrait
by Kurokaze-sama
Summary: Al, Ed, Roy, and Riza are thrown into another universe by a Central prisoner’s alchemic research. Al manages to achieve a body, but only at the cost of many more, and all four are pitted against the memories of their dual reality, trying to return home.
1. Execution

**Portrait**

**Ch. 1: Execution**

**Author's Note: **_Hello, welcome to Portrait. Thanks for clicking! Just some things before you read:_

**This fic contains:** _Language, Violence, Sadism, Gore, Sexual Content, Suggested Incest (not Elricest), AU, Mind Fuck, Scary Images (?), OCs (six of 'em, and then some random people), Spoilers Through Chapter 40 (spoiler!hints of events up to chapter 102) and Death (all capitalized)._

_Timeline is a little after the fight with Lust, but I waved a magic wand over Mustang's cauterization wounds because he needs his body free for further abuse in this. Pairings stick the rather obvious manga!canon, but otherwise, Roy-tachi gets onesiders, and there is suggested incest between the homunculi._

_ It's also worth taking note that I messed up: Envy's usual disguise is at the rank of Major General, not Brigadier General. But I guess it doesn't matter too much, so there._

**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, and I don't want to. It seems like a lot of work and I don't know how I could possibly live up to its awesomeness._

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Footsteps echoed against the asphalted pavement, one after the other pounding heartbeats into the earth. A black cloak had been thrust over the stars and moon since the day had set, leaving a simple line of lampposts to illuminate the night. This made it all the more difficult for him to tread the streets at night, and to make matters worse, it seemed as though his own physicality was the _only_ one being restricted. While such wouldn't have proved to be a problem on any other evening, this occasion had one particular difference: he was leading a line of angry soldiers. At the front of the wave, himself, the prison escapee; behind the man washed forth a mass of blue—eleven men, he counted, all branded by the same arms and uniform that had restrained him for so long—and at the very back swept a trail of yellow squares; windows being lit up in response to the commotion, cranky citizens leaning out.

"Freeze, Gurner!" an official shouted, and the rest followed up the authority with various counterparts of the word and a curse or so. At the level of his exhaustion, everything just seemed to blur together. But the chase was prolonged still, seconds bestowed onto the prison with each corner cut, each wall slid past, and each breath stuffed down his parched-out throat.

Gurner sped around an apartment complex and traveled deep within the proceeding alley. Now he could hear a few cars coming his way, and more men tailing the vehicles.

"Five minutes." Gurner spoke as if vomiting his words. "There has to be another way." A familiar street sign came into view just beyond the alley's end, swallowed in streetlights and golden windows of the awakened. He began to proceed towards the pole with a sprint more powerful than he presented to his pursuers, when a silhouette eased its way in front of Gurner's path. The outline seemed identical to that of the soldiers behind him, but no weapon was visible. Instead, he stood alone, his right hand extended out. Gurner, upon seeing this hand, skidded to a stop.

"This is as far as you go, Rudolph Gurner," the figure said. His fingers snapped forward, a thin line of red leaped out, and an explosion consumed the fugitive. Several soldiers noticed the explosion and circled the corresponding area, in case the man was to survive. The fire died down quickly and burned bits and pieces of trash off to the sides of the alley. At first, it seemed as though the flames had destroyed their target, but as the smoke cleared over, a shadow of a being became visible. When the alley was clear, it was revealed that Gurner's entirety remained unharmed, right down to the threads of his prison jumpsuit.

The man's physical features were also put to light. He was hunched over, shaking a tad with each breath drawn. Wrinkles rippled across his skin as though they had been whipped into place, and liver spots were bleeding down each crease. His face was tormented in a similar fashion, hair grayed and falling, and from his mouth babbled a sheet of drying blood, a black tongue swelling just behind it. He appeared as though he was in his eighties, sinking into the ground. The man adjacent to him, observing his prey through dark eyes and spikes of pitch-black hair, seemed disgusted.

Gurner opened his mouth to speak, but had to wait for a coughing fit before starting. "So this is the power of the Flame Alchemist?" he asked. "I never had the pleasure of seeing it in the war, though to be honest I hadn't planned to."

"I wouldn't call it a pleasure," Colonel Roy Mustang said, stern. "But then, you wouldn't know."

"I was seventy years old by the time that charade had started," Gurner countered. "There wasn't any way the Führer was going to put me out there."

"Better out there than in prison."

"Really?" Gurner coughed. "That's not what I heard."

This earned the man another firestorm, which he also escaped unharmed. It received a round of astonishment from the surrounding militia, but none had dropped their arms. When the smoke had cleared off, it was reveal that a new set of wrinkles had started to droop down on his chin.

"Tell me, Gurner," Mustang said, "just exactly how old are you now?"

The fugitive laughed, and gave the Flame Alchemist a look. "_Thirty-three years young. _Why do you ask?"

Mustang shook his head. "Those years haven't been kind, have they?"

"They're about to get kinder," Gurner said, raising his hands. "All you have to do is move."

"Sorry, I can't do that." He smirked, extending his left hand in front this time. "I am, however, permitted to detain your crippled ass!" Mustang snapped, and Gurner clapped his hands together. A third, more concentrated burst of fire raged forth from the spark glove, but Gurner did not flinch. Instead, he raised his arms up to the redness and allowed it to come in contact with his hands. From there, it dissipated, and Gurner lunged forward.

"Too slow, Colonel!" Gurner put his hands together once more and reached out for Mustang's flesh. The colonel, instead of allowing the contact to be made, punched his opponent's stomach, kicked back, and snapped again with his right glove. Though caught off guard, Gurner was able to utilize the alchemy he had prepared and neutralized the most of the blast. The part that had not been affected blew the old man into the crowd of surrounding soldiers, and set fire to small portions of skin dangling from his face. Forces from behind the man locked his arms with their own, and several guns were pointed to his head.

"Don't underestimate my flames, Gurner," Mustang said, approaching the crowd.

"Oh, I never did, Colonel Mustang, believe me." He coughed for a moment, paused, and grinned. Mustang made no such expression, uneasy at the sudden spike in cockiness, but before he could question the attitude adjustment the fugitive yelled, "Now, Natalie!"

Mustang flinched and prepared for an attack from behind. In response to seeing such, the soldiers holding him also seemed to become nervous, and their grip lightened just the slightest bit. Gurner took the opportunity to force his hands together, and from a single touch of the elder's fingertips, the flesh of the soldiers constraining him melted and peeled away, revealing ivory, crimson-dotted bones at the sites of contact. When the men peeled back in shrieks of pain, Gurner made a break for it.

Mustang became agitated. "Freeze, Gurner!" The Flame Alchemist followed close behind his trail, and the two raced into the next street.

"Back up the colonel!" declared an officer from behind. The wave of blue started forward, only to be overridden by Mustang.

"No, don't follow us!" he said. "This is an ex-State Alchemist! He's mine!" And the both of them disappeared. "Besides…" Mustang added, "I already called for some back up."

Gurner, taking a quick glance at his foes, frowned at the lack of personnel. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Another explosion came from the rear; Gurner was able to perform his nullification, but since he couldn't concentrate on intercepting what he couldn't see, his backside was still burned to a crisp, and he was pushed forward several meters into a lamppost.

"Shit…" Gurner came down to his feet, and his hands met twice: once in the air and once against the ground. The cement beneath him thrust upwards and rolled across to Mustang's location. The man's initial reaction was to jump out of the way, which worked until he realized that the ground was following _him_. It slapped the colonel at his side, causing a few unpleasant snapping noises, and he flew in the direction of the fugitive, who had already had his alchemy ready for him.

"Damn it!" Mustang braced for impacted, hoping to dodge the flesh-rotting touch, when a blast sounded overhead. One lone bullet tore through the deep atmosphere of the night, flying from a small window up top of the building above and piercing down into Gurner's right hand. His subsequent scream was weak, but distraught, like soft, dainty nails against a chalkboard. Blood soaked over his drooping flesh, and the man fell upon his knees. Mustang, who was still speeding towards hell, collided with the injured Gurner, and together they crashed into a garbage can just inside a neighboring alley.

They both pushed their way off each other, but Mustang was up before his enemy, and used the lead he had to gain some distance. Gurner took notice, and attempted to stand, but something was preventing him from moving further, a sharp pain from below. He glanced down, and found a knife just between his right, lower most ribs.

"Clever, Colonel, clever," Gurner laughed, grimacing as he moved his shot hand over the wound. A globule of crimson fell from Gurner's mouth, a reminder his body was breaking down.

"I'm not stupid," Mustang said.

"Well, congratulations." Gurner wiped the blood from his mouth.

"My flames don't have a lot against you, but what I can do is keep you occupied long enough for your body to slow down." Mustang raised his right hand. "Like so."

A snap, and red streaked toward the prisoner in a wave of conflagration. However, another force was there to greet it; a great sapphire light emerged from the building from behind the elder. Bricks shifted and settled themselves into the shape of a massive bowl, which was set in between Gurner and his impending doom.

"…the hell?!" Mustang backed away from the shield, staggered by the sudden defense.

Gurner, however, was having a panic attack of his own. "Natalie, no! Go back home!" he yelled.

"Natalie…?" The colonel blinked. "She's actually here?"

"Go home, sweetheart!"

"Too late!" Mustang circled the corner of the warehouse from which the shield had originated, and found that the main entrance was open wide. He peered through, and saw a young girl standing just meters away, her hands placed onto the air that once was brick. Most of her features were shadowed by a black cloak she wore, but through the darkness he could make out lifeless grey eyes staring straight back at him. They bore no hatred, no shock, nor grief, but were simply locked on the colonel's face.

Mustang reached behind him, and raised his sidearm. "Natalie Gurner, you're under arrest for the assistance of a Central fugitive."

Natalie made the slightest effort to pout. "Are you going to shoot me, colonel?" Her voice was dull, understated, but loud enough to come through.

The colonel, however, didn't respond to the question, but backed up so that he may include both the prisoner's shell and his daughter in his view. "Surrender quietly, Miss Gurner."

"Because, you know," she continued, "if I had researched the same materials as my daddy, wouldn't you just want to use your gloves?"

Mustang frowned. "I don't use my gloves on children."

"Not anymore?"

The bursting of bricks interrupted the two, and from the corner of his visual scope the colonel could see Gurner sprinting out of the shield. As he prepared to attack the escapee, something caught his eye, a change in the man's appearance: all wounds previously acquired had scarred over in their entirety. No clothing lost, however, had not been replaced, but shifted over in different areas to cover what may have been censored by ashed skin.

"Stay down, Gurner!" Mustang took a shot at his opponent, grazing his leg, and Natalie seized the opportunity to dash out the other side of the warehouse. "Damn it…" Mustang raised his gun. "Neither of you move!"

The moment the gun was switched from parent to child, Gurner became outraged. "Don't you _dare_ shoot my daughter!" He clapped his hands and slammed them against the structure neighboring the warehouse. The foundation shook and crackled at the near bottom, followed by bricks flying out of place and window shattering into a crystal rain. It wasn't more than moment before the entire building began to collapse.

"No!" Mustang was nicked on the cheek by a handful of rubble, but approached the future wreckage so that he may be heard. "Lieutenant! First Lieutenant!"

He waited, but there was no response.

"Dammit, answer me! Lieutenant Hawkeye!" Mustang blasted his left hand through a collection of roof tiles. "Is there anyone inside?!"

Gurner, having succeeded in his distraction, took off after his daughter towards their preset destination.

"Shit!" The colonel was at a standstill, torn between duty and lives. "_Lieutenant Hawkeye!_"

It was at that moment, of course, that sparkles poured down from the sky.

"BEAUTIFUL LIEUTENANT HAWKEYE~!"

Mustang, hit by a stray twinkling, looked up towards the stars and felt his eyes bleeding out of their sockets. Never before, though, had he been so welcoming to the pain. "Major Armstrong!"

Yes, there, flying down from the night, was Alex Louis Armstrong, his uniform jacket dancing down leagues above him. "Fear not, Colonel! I shall save the lieutenant with these…" He flexed out, and somewhere in the universe a hole was torn into the space-time continuum. "Behold, my rippling children!" And he smashed into the roof of the building.

"Wait, Major! Is there anyone else in there?!"

The major poked his head out of a window on the second floor. Thin streaks of crimson ran down his budging flesh. "I'm afraid so, sir!" He ran back inside.

"Dammit!" The colonel gritted his teeth. "Where's the lieutenant?!"

As soon as Mustang capped off his question, a screaming blue figure was launched out another window along with a rifle strapped to its back.

"…Holy—!" Mustang tried to follow the woman's shadow, but proved himself useless in the reception of her body, and both, sniper lady on top, collided against the ground.

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye turned her head to see what had broken her fall. "C… Colonel Mustang!" Her voice was shaking.

His rib cage demolished, Mustang struggled for breath. "_…me._"

"Sir?"

"_Lieutenant…_"

Hawkeye frowned. "Yes, sir?"

"…_me._"

"You…"

"_Get off of me NOW, Lieutenant._"

"Oh! …My apologies, sir." She was careful as she slid off his chest.

A deep inhale, and Mustang was at his feet again. "Major! I'm leaving the citizens to you!"

"Roger, sir!" called manliness from within the crumbling building. An explosion of sapphire illuminated the pouring bricks, and three rows of staircases blossomed forth from the structure's remaining window frames. Each step created was line with flower crests, and miniature Armstrong busts crowned the rose vine railing, all finished in a coat of glossy steel. Gradually, people began to make their way out of the rubble.

"Let's go, Lieutenant," her superior said, scouting out a possible trail of blood.

Hawkeye struggled to stand up, but could not budge. "Colonel, sir…"

"What? C'mon, we have to—" It was then that the colonel noticed the blade of glass lodged in his subordinate's left leg. "…Lieutenant."

"I'm alright, sir." The top most floor of the building caved in. "I would be a hindrance if I came with you— Ah!"

Mustang hoisted Hawkeye onto his back and secured her legs with his arms. Her back was erect, parallel to the man's body as her crotch rubbed against the back of his head. Her body alone weighed down up his shoulders immensely, but the grip with maintained. "I'm not leaving you next to a crumbling building. Armstrong's got enough on his hands." After spotting traces of Gurner's remaining wound, Mustang sprinted further into the raining debris. "Get out your sidearm. We're gonna take down a fugitive."

Hawkeye pulled out one of her pistols. "Forgive me for my unsolicited input, sir, but I didn't think guns worked on him."

"They don't. Neither do my flames."

"Then why…?"

"Because they don't have to work. All we have to do…" Mustang veered left, now out of the danger zone, and saw two tiny figures far out into a main street way. "…is get _him_ to work."

As the gap between the two groups was closed, the soldiers realized they had made out two figures, but it was not as they were expecting. Out in front ran Natalie; following her arm was a small fist, fingers rapped around an alchemic makeshift cart handle. On the cart itself laid Gurner, who had now lost the ability to walk, though it was clear his legs had stopped bleeding seconds after they had left the area. His mouth had been caked over anew with spilling insides.

"They're coming…" Gurner whispered. "They're coming… I have to…" The man tried to move his hands, but couldn't find the strength. "C'mon… I have to…"

"Daddy, stop talking," Natalie said. "If you don't stop talking, you'll die."

"Natalie…" The senior Gurner coughed, and closed his eyes. "Natalie…"

Natalie looked away. "Just keep breathing, okay, daddy?"

Hawkeye tried to focus her aim towards the cart. "Colonel, could you please stand still for a moment? I can't get a clear shot while we're moving up and down like this."

"If you lose ten pounds, then sure. But not while I'm still able to keep this momentum up." Mustang grinned as he was bopped in the head with her pistol. "If you're my subordinate, then I know you can handle it."

Hawkeye cracked a tiny smile. "Yes, sir."

Natalie, across the way, continued the support of her father and brought him into another alley. Upon entrance, she turned the cart around so as to put herself behind it, forced it in front of her person to stay progressive, and threw off her heavy black cloak. Underneath, her clothes were lighter. A white collar shirt fluffed out from the top of navy blue skirt, which bordered the top of her knees. Over the shirt was a faded brown jacket, left open so as to prevent movement restriction, shadowed by two long golden ponytails, centered behind her head, and a small white bow on the top of her head.

With the weight lifted, Natalie rushed over to the cart again, grabbed hold of the handle, and swung herself around to lead it once more. She was about to turn into a backstreet, when she thought she could hear a small click in the distance. The wagon didn't seem to feel any different—though considerably noisy moving on and off trash and curbsides—nor had her father obtained a new wound, so she persisted with her efforts until a gun shot fell not a centimeter short of taking out one of the cart's wheels. After a small jump, she improved her pace and managed to get herself behind the next turn unharmed. But as the cart also flew around the next corner, a hind wheel was taken out straight through the middle of the main bolt securing it, and Gurner was bumped out of his carriage and onto the ground with a remarkable _thunk_.

"Daddy!" Natalie said, her words soft. She rushed over to her father's side and proceeded to hoist him onto the cart once more, when she noticed something that she had overlooked due to all the commotion from behind her. Something about the man felt… off. Now that she could get closer to the man's chest, Natalie notice that there was less noise within him. Rudolph Gurner's heart was slowing down. Which, at his health and cellular reproduction abuse, meant only moments before a complete stop.

But even before she had time to think about death, there was an even more immediate problem at hand: the cart. Its right hind wheel had been blown out, and thus rendered useless, which posed a rather interesting problem against the girl, who had no applicable experience whatsoever in this kind of situation. She did not possess mechanical knowledge of any degree, nor was she known for anything handy save eating, writing, and drawing circles, and in addition to that, the alchemy that she had been studying for so long had never introduced her to any of the more simplistic circles designed for basic reconstruction. The very analysis of the situation was depressing her, not to mention her total lack of options. So, Natalie continued to dash her father off with three wheels. Another shot flew. Two wheels.

Mustang smiled from afar. "Excellent shot, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

The young girl dragged her limp father towards another street corner. Now, facing upwards, she could see the little apartment waiting for them, and everything her father ever wanted inside: all their years of hard work, all their hopes and dreams, nestled with care just down the street. Unfortunately, half a street below the apartment, they were greeted by the farthest thing from pleasant the little girl could ever have imagined. Natalie dropped the handle of the cart as she stared past the pavement, and her eyes cracked open as reality struck her in the head.

"…Daddy?" She bent down to shake the old man. "Daddy, wake up. Please wake up."

Gurner stirred, and licked his drying red lips. "Yes, honey?" His voice was quiet.

"Didn't the colonel call off his men?"

"Yes… That's what I told you..."

"Oh, okay. I thought so."

Natalie then composed herself, and gazed over the multitude of soldiers that had reassembled. She made a rough guess at seventy-five blue-collared dogs and four cars of supplies, each man armed and ready to fire. At the front stood someone of superiority, no doubt, and considering what her father had updated her on, as well as who he was as former state alchemist, this man could only have out-ranked the colonel by a hair. Still, being faced by a brigadier general was quite the unfortunate circumstance.

"Step away from the cart, Miss Gurner," the man ordered. "You are under arrest for the assistance of a Central fugitive."

Natalie bit her lip and walked, hands above her head, in front of the cart, just above her father.

"_Away_ from the cart, Miss Gurner," he repeated, "or I have the consent of the Führer himself to take off your head."

The girl paused. "…What about my daddy? Are you going to shoot him?"

"That's why you need to move, dear."

"I bet you can't shoot daddy, can you."

The man flinched. "And why would you think that, Miss Gurner?"

"If you were allowed to shoot daddy, he would already be dead."

"But I am allowed to shoot him."

"But you can't kill him."

A small sting pulsed through Natalie's stomach. She ran her hand over where the girl had felt it pass, and was not surprised to find that her hand had become wet. She was also not in the least bit alarmed when it started to hurt, but even Natalie couldn't keep a straight face as the feeling in her abdomen returned. She yelped a little, and fell to her knees vomiting blood.

"I _can _kill whoever gets in my way, though," the official said, running his fingers over the barrel of his revolver. He watched his prey curl over in pain beside the cart. "Like father like daughter, I suppose," he added as the young girl's mouth turned red.

"Brigadier General, sir!"

The man cocked his head to the side of the cart, the direction of which he believed the voice to originate. His teeth were gritted for a mere second, then relaxed to suit a superior air. "Oh, Colonel Mustang," he said. "Good news."

Mustang and Hawkeye stopped just around the corner of a building, Hawkeye's pistol up and forward. They observed the situation, but did not speak until they saw Natalie's golden hair turning red. Mustang let his lieutenant down, avoiding the glass on her leg, and spoke first.

"And what would that be, sir?" he asked. "Now we can gun down minors as we please?"

"Yes, actually," the brigadier general said. "So long as they lend a hand to Mr. Gurner here." He gestured to the body on the cart, which was twitching toward his daughter. She coughed in response.

"I never heard anything about that."

"You've been out a tad longer than I have," the man replied, laughing. "Most people are usually asleep three hours to sunrise, you know?"

"Most people." The colonel put away his gloves. "What would you like me to do with Gurner?"

"Nothing. Let them be. I've called for medical assistance on Mr. Gurner's behalf, seeing as though I didn't bring any with me, but little Miss Natalie isn't of…" The man bit his lip, catching his dialogue before it came out.

"Isn't… of what?" Mustang seemed suspicious. "I just spent thirty minutes trying to find this guy and take him down as instructed, sir. But now he's being taken to a hospital, and we're going to let the _girl_ die?"

"Yes."

"Then why not Gurner, if I may ask? If we're granted permission to fire at him, then why work to keep him alive?"

"No more questions, Colonel." The man looked down at the ground for a moment. The windows from above the street freckled the night air with beacons of light, which collected down at the brigadier general's feet as the man walked away from the colonel. The further he strode, the longer they seemed to frown back at him. "Just burn the girl's corpse when she becomes one," the man added before disappearing. "We shouldn't be leaving messes around Central like this."

Mustang stared at the man's path, doubt passing through his expression, then sighed. He turned his attention to his subordinate. "Are you alright, Lieutenant? You can hold out until the ambulance arrives, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be fine." Hawkeye looked down, and began to toy with her pistol, rubbing it with her palm. "…Colonel?"

"What is it, First Lieutenant?"

"You didn't need to carry me the whole way. You could have simply set me down and I wouldn't have had to inconvenience you."

Mustang walked around Hawkeye and knelt down to examine her wound. "I don't leave my subordinates behind. Surely you would understand that by now."

"Still…" Hawkeye placed the gun down back in its holster, and examined the broken family. She felt her body being weighed upon looking at the girl, and the more so when she shifted to the father as men approached him to fit him in thick, wooden cuffs. But the woman was interrupted – interrupted by a faint clapping sound. Hawkeye peered further into the scene, and then panicked.

"Colonel!" she yelled.

Mustang followed her line of vision up until where the lieutenant had been staring, and leaped up from his position over Hawkeye.

"Careful—" his officer warned, but Mustang had already knocked into the glass shard's side, causing the woman an great deal of discomfort. She seized her leg in an automatic response, and couldn't bear to move them to her pistol.

"Stop, Gurner!" Mustang ripped on his gloves, but it was already too late.

The street facing Gurner was eaten by an obscure layer of translucent purple, and the men inside of it froze. The force field obtained a crystal-like texture, and the soldiers started to move backwards, all sounds emitted reversed, and they shuffled themselves back into cars and their original stations without even taking a peek behind. All four cars were started up again and drove rearward, the blue masses running blindly in pursuit. But as they came in contact with the boundaries of the purple haze, their limbs started to spiral into streamers out from their joints, and soon vanished when their normal time zone barrier was passed, leaving nothing not a single thread of hair for the reality outside. The rest of the bodies followed the same fate, until the entire legion had disappeared. The force field lifted itself, and silence held the air.

Mustang, standing guard in front of Hawkeye, was dumbstruck, and the visage of the woman he'd been protecting was not the slightest bit different. New life, however, was rekindled in their expressions by a bloodcurdling scream just meters away. Their heads shot to the left at Gurner, who was shrieking his soul inside out, and it soon became apparent why. It started at his feet, coming out a metallic grey; an unraveling process identical to that of the soldiers was tearing at the man's toes, flowing up to his ankles, then speeding to his knees, and the fleshy squares emerging from below his jumpsuit capped themselves off at the bottom of his hips. Before anyone knew it, both his legs had vanished off the face of the earth.

"Shit—!" Gurner cried, grabbing his wounds. "Why the hell did you have to stop there?! Finish what you started, you… you fucking _coward!_ Finish what you never could, God damn you!" He began to sob in agony, but as the red gushed outward, his outbreaks died down in almost no time at all. "Dammit…" Gurner crawled on top of his daughter and hugged onto her. "Natalie…"

Mustang held his fingers forward. "Don't move a muscle, damn you! What the hell just happened?! Where did you send those soldiers?! And what the fuck happened to…" The colonel stopped, and realization tore his eyes open. "Your arm and leg…"

Mustang's questions were ignored, however, and Gurner continued to speak with his daughter.

"Natalie," he managed, shredding his lip with his teeth, "could you… go by yourself?"

"…Daddy…" Natalie coughed. Her wet finger skipped a broken path across her own blood, most of which had been thinned out or absorbed by the asphalt.

"Natalie dear, you're a big girl… I'm sure you can do it." His life was drifting from his words. "I'm so proud of you, Natalie. My little Natalie…"

Mustang, though teetering internally, stepped forward. "Neither of you are going anywhere." He approached Gurner cautiously to see if he couldn't restrain him.

The prisoner grimaced at the colonel. "_Shut up, you genocidal alchemist_…"

Hawkeye grit her teeth up at the insult, and endeavored a grab for her gun. "How dare you—" But before she could finish her sentence, flames raged forth towards the family, and Gurner released his grip on his daughter.

"Warm…" he whispered. "It feels so nice."

"No, daddy. It's supposed to hurt!" Natalie slammed her hands on the ground, and the two of them were lifted off into the air on a column of stone. The fire molded into an explosion, causing extensive damage to their platform, but Natalie kept her hands on the top and they continued to soar towards the end of the street.

Hawkeye shot at the broken area of stone, weakening it further. "How on earth did she do that?"

"Probably drew an alchemy circle with her blood," Mustang said. "Not something I recommend!" He ran a second explosion by the hole in the column, and it flew to pieces.

"Hang on to me… daddy!" Natalie yelled to her father. There was no response, and the old man dangled through the air like a doll. "Daddy?"

"Hold on, kids!"

Both remaining soldiers peered into the distance, and found a short, wrinkly old woman at the edge of the apartment building ahead. Her arms were spread wide, her back was braced, and her legs were spread in a powerful stature. After observing each of these physical features, Mustang concluded that troublesome cripple number two was going to try and catch flying renegades.

"You over there! Let them fall if you want to live!" the colonel warned, gloves at the ready.

"Sir," Hawkeye yelled, "they're too close to building!"

"Not for a pinpoint strike, no!" Mustang started a snap out at the elder, when something ripped through his right shoulder, spreading a vigorous throbbing sensation out from the area of contact. He fell backwards and slammed against the asphalt, the colonel's hands just barely breaking his fall. Blood was quick to rush out of the wound and dyed his chest over with a crimson paint. Just as he was about to search for the origin of the round, a small click sounded from behind Mustang, and the man turned around, only to find the lieutenant with her sidearm out.

"Get down, Colonel," she said. Her eyes blazed with fury.

Outrage consumed her commanding officer. "What's the meaning of this, First

Lieut—"

Hawkeye fired out in front of Mustang's head. At first, despite his utter astonishment, he made a split-second effort to evade it; then he realized the shot's true purpose. A secondary bullet appeared just above his nasal cavity, speeding into his cheek, but before it was able to make contact with his skin it was struck back by Hawkeye's own projectile, and after a colliding spark, both bullets ricocheted off each other in opposite directions.

Mustang followed the path of the newer bullet back towards a small apartment balcony on the third floor. There stood a second elder, male this time, towering over the rail and quaking in terror as he clutched onto his gun. "Grandparents?" Mustang speculated. Then it hit him.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" he shouted. "We have to secure the apartment! Whatever they're doing, this is it!"

Hawkeye straighten up, and attempted a stand. "Roger, sir!" It was in vain.

"Like hell you will!"

Both soldiers turned their attention back towards the grandmother. She was now supporting Natalie, who was fighting to stay conscious, on with her right arm, while Gurner was prompted over the young girl's back. Her tongue was flapping out of her mouth, lips sealed around it.

"Stop showing off, Florence!" the grandfather warned from above. "Get inside!"

"Fine, you ol' killjoy!" Florence did as she was told, and Natalie dragged herself without a word.

"Stay put, damn you!" Mustang discharged a line of fire towards the three, but the attack was avoided by a slip indoors. Instead, the blast struck the entrance of the building, causing the main entrance some damage and set the core of the detonated area ablaze.

"Jesus Christ…" the elder on the balcony gasped. "It really is the Hero of Ishval…" He brought his gun down pointing at Mustang's head, struggling to get a clear aim due to the ferocious shaking of his arms. "Dammit, I knew I should've stayed inside…!" He pulled the trigger, and a bullet pierced through his forehead. There was a moment of silence, and after relaxing his muscles, the gun slipped from the old man's hands.

Hawkeye frowned from a distance, her pistol smoking before her. "Don't you_ dare_ touch my colonel again." She watched the grandfather fall from the balcony, subsequently dismembered by impact. "Ever."

Florence gazed at the old man's remains, puddled in blood, from various cracks inside the stairwell. She, her unresponsive son, and granddaughter were traveling up to the third floor, making poor time with two injured bodies and suffocating smoke. The people that had been hiding within the building were beginning to panic, as they had prayed to various deities that their home not be involved in the brawl outside, and just as their fear had been realized, their immediate escape route had been blown to bits. Many tried to flee the situation without crossing paths with the Gurners.

"Sorry we were so late," the woman told Natalie, facing out the cracks still. "Your damn grandpa didn't wanna get his lazy ass outside just 'cause there were a few men in blue." Her clenched her teeth together. "Damned coward."

Natalie glimpsed at the flames engulfing the structure below, and then took a moment to look at her grandmother. "Thank you… for helping us."

Florence grinned. "Well, o' course! Couldn't leave you now, 'specially after getting so close! We're a family, you know? Even if your ol' grandpa's a pussy, he still loves you as much as I do."

Natalie cracked a smile at the thought, but failed to hold it. "Yeah…" She leaned to get a better look at her enemies, when she was nudged away from the window. The girl looked up at her grandmother's face again. "Granny?"

"What is it, kiddo?"

"…You're crying."

She laughed. "I bet I am."

Natalie readjusted the man on her back with difficulty. "Is it the smoke?"

"It's gotta be," Florence said. "Fires, explosions, gun fights… Sixty-five is a few years too old for this shit, you know? And at this time of night, too." She proceeded to laugh some more.

"…Granny?"

"Yeah?"

Natalie looked down, and began to feel dizzy. "I'm sorry…" She fell against the flight.

Outside of the apartment building, Mustang forced himself up to his feet and proceeded towards the burning doorway. He shed his coat off of his shoulders and then repeated such with his collar shirt, revealing the wound still pumping fresh blood. He steadied his left hand over his chest, and, after synthesizing a minute current of oxygen, applied fire over the injured area. As the flesh brittled and cooked, it became more difficult for him to move forward.

"Colonel!" Hawkeye yelled. "Please reconsider! You're in no position to fight them!"

He stopped his feet, though not his flames, and turned to face the woman in the eyes. "Who do you think you are…" he gasped, "giving me orders?"

There a small pause, and the woman allowed his words to sink into her mind for a moment. Hawkeye then forced her own legs upward with the support off her rifle. The piece of glass was broken in half just beyond where it branched out from her leg, causing the woman's hands to be sliced.

Mustang stood in shock. "…Are you insane?!"

Hawkeye winced at her throbbing palms. "I'm coming with you!"

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am, sir!" She ripped off two pieces of cloth from underneath her uniform and tightened it around the cuts.

"No! And that's an order! You have to… rest those injuries!" her commanding officer instructed, losing his voice to pain.

"I will rest _later_." Hawkeye hobbled forward and supported the colonel's left side, avoiding contact with his flames. "But for now, at least let me help you, Colonel." She smiling, only to have it cringed away by her wounds.

"Stay out of this…!" Mustang made an effort to brush her off, trying to leave her behind as he advanced with able limbs, but the woman would not let go of him. After a few steps, he sighed, and stopped the cauterization. "…You really are stubborn."

"Stubborn at your convenience, sir."

The man looked down for a moment, then smirked. "Hn. It should be at my discretion." Both turned to the building. "I'll clear a pathway so we can get indoors," Mustang said. "If there are still people trapped inside, I trust you to get them out safely. There should be some wood I can draw together into a clutch if you need it." The man shifted his focus towards the third floor balcony. "I'll take care of the Gurners myself."

Hawkeye appeared reluctant, but forced herself to nod. "Understood."

"_Oh? Is that so?"_

The lieutenant and her superior shot their attention to the left, where a mangy black shadow was stumbling out of the darkness of a roadside alley. Red eyes pierced out of the smoky atmosphere, underlined by a set of ghostly white shards tucked under bleeding lips._ "And just where the fuck do you think you're going, Colonel?!"_

Mustang grimaced at the sight. "Lieutenant!"

"Sir!" Hawkeye hoisted the rifle into position on her person and took careful aim. Mustang shuffled behind her, still in considerable pain despite his minimized bleeding, and he felt it appropriate to begin to use his opposite hand freely. It was held up; nestled inside: Mustang's sidearm.

"Aww, that's so sweet. Teamwork!" the white shards sneered. "Only a real pair of dumbasses would pick a fight with me when I'm _pissed_." A retaliation would have been voiced, but before the two could even start to piece their words together, their focus was captured by a pair of ruby lightning bolts emerging from what appeared to be the main body of the mass. They were followed by an orchestra of similar phenomena, frying the being as they slid across its body; even so, the figure was able to advance.

"…Is that…" Mustang stared hard at the red streaks, and saw the same light embedded into his memory. That woman from the 3rd Research Institute, if he recalled, could produce something of similar nature. "…The Philosopher's Stone…?!"

"Wow, very good!" the shadow replied. "You certainly a quick one. It's a shame I'll be ripping your brains out."

"A homunculus?" Hawkeye groaned. "I might as well be holding a teddy bear."

"Identify yourself, homunculus," Mustang demanded. "Or we'll shoot at your head 'til it falls off."

"Sorry," the creature said, "but shit like you isn't worth wasting time on." An arm slid out of the darkness; the skin on its forearm branched out into what appeared to be a steel blade. Suddenly, the whole mass came forward, long slivers of black hair trailing behind a blur of bleeding flesh. The blade headed the attack, and was lashed out in the direction of Mustang's chest. "This one's for Lust, bastard!"

"Colonel!" Hawkeye fixated her aim just between the beast's glowing eyes, and fired. The round raced towards it target, but just before it was able to pierce through the homunculus' skin, it was caught by a pair of small black hands. Both lieutenant and colonel were caught by surprise, but their level of unrest increased further when they found that there existed not two, but several little hands, restraining the bullet and the monster's body alike. Mustang stared at the bullet, then the mass, followed by the strings of black, and assessed the new development accordingly: more crazy inhuman shit.

"_That's enough, Envy."_

Envy, deformed by rage and fear, allowed his eyes to drift across each dark stretch of limb. "Dammit, Pride…"

"_Let it go. First with the Xingese pair, and now this? You truly are the most embarrassing excuse of a sibling created thus far."_

His words pierced through Envy, and with each passing second that they took a stab at the mass' ears he found himself more and more fixated on the prospect of bloodlust. His muscles, however, were relaxed, and the black hands began to retreat.

"_That's a good boy." _Pride's limbs disappeared below Envy's feet and into the shadows underneath. _"Now come home and leave the candidate be. I'm sure Father would like to have a word with you..."_ His presence vanished.

"…Fine." The remaining homunculus sent a red charge through his body, transforming his crimson distortion into something more composed and human, bound by flawless skin and patches of clothing that match his hair color. Just as the new figure was assumed, he balled his hands into tight fists, furious at his own weakness. "Fucking Pride..." Envy then turned to Mustang and his subordinate, who almost flinched in response, having watched the entire transformation.

"You're damn lucky you've been chosen, Colonel Mustang." Envy began to walk away, during which time Mustang felt a small pulsation on his dorsum of his hand. He put away his gun and slipped off his left spark glove. A faint chalk-like circle was etched where he had experienced the pulsation, which was acknowledged, then concealed by white. Before he departed, Envy had the pleasure of hearing the voice that caused his ears to bleed once more.

"Wait," the colonel said, narrowing his gaze. "We're not through yet." The creature stopped, bitterly intrigued. Mustang took it as an opportunity to continue. "Before you go… Envy, was it?"

Envy did not move. "…And what if it was?"

Mustang frowned. "I don't suppose you once knew a man named Maes Hughes, did you?"

Hawkeye stared at her commanding officer, surprised, then forced her eyes back at Envy. She felt a chill run down her spine.

The homunculus tilted his head back at the two soldiers. His rage was masked by a twisted smile, curdling Hawkeye's blood as Mustang remained unfazed.

"You know?" Envy said, "I _did_ know a man named Maes Hughes!"

"Really?" Mustang's face grew cold. "And would you happen to know anything about how he passed on, Envy?"

The homunculus stared at the two for a moment, and then he laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, acknowledging that the _more_ he laughed, the less human the colonel's presence became. He found the matter quite entertaining, which was made all the more humorous still when he noticed Hawkeye's complexion pale in grave fear.

"Well…" Envy glanced up to collect his words, focused on the alchemist, paused, did a double take, then locked his eyes on the night sky. It couldn't be…

"No way…" Envy failed to manage anything intelligible past that, and gaped at the evening above.

"Hey!" the interrogator said, "answer me, En—" But the colonel also found himself fixated on the creature's point of interest. This was followed by Hawkeye, naturally, and soon the flying spectacle in the heavens had earned himself an audience. He flexed in response.

"Just how the hell does that—" Envy would have finished the sentence dripping in insults circulating around homosexuality, but as he spoke the homunculus was impaled straight through the center of his torso by a large, stone spike, and thus didn't have much to say other than the standard "fuck you," only rendered incomprehensible due to lack of lungs.

"Armstrong—!" Mustang and his subordinate braced for impact as the major's sparkling feet collided with the ground. He rose, shirtless, gorgeous, and raised his iron-plated fists.

"Colonel, I shall hold off the homunculus so that you may further the pursuit of Gurner," he said.

"Major—" The colonel blinked. "Wait, how did you know…"

"My fabulous muscles informed me of your peril, sir!"

Face palm.

"Don't take him on by yourself," Mustang said, adjusting the glove on his free arm, "unless you plan on killing him a good twenty-seven times."

"That I can handle, sir," Armstrong responded. He rippled into fighting position. "Please allow me to buy you some time!"

"Hn. I have plenty of time, now." Mustang raised his hand. "Lieutenant!"

"Sir!" Hawkeye rested her index finger upon the trigger.

"Um, Colonel, sir! Lieutenant!" Armstrong yelled. "I highly recommend pursuit!"

The lightning bolts ruptured from Envy's chest, and the major's spike logged within him was split in two by bubbles of regenerating flesh. "D… damn you…" The homunculus launched his arm forward, from which tiny scales crusted off until it took on the form of a snake. "Stay out of this, faggot!" The beast lunged at Armstrong.

"I am no such thing! Now…" The major struck the ground in front of him and blue streams shattered the asphalt on which he stood. "Burst forth, my minions!" Several small cylinders launched out from the road, each sculpted in perfect accordance to the man's cephalic features. Envy swept away the first layer of stones with his reptilian limb, but was impaled by the hundreds that followed. More crimson poured out of his flesh, only to be patched by ruby, then recrimsoned by a large bullet that broke clear through his heart.

"That's four times… Envy choked. "I'll never make it out of here alive if I don't…" He was interrupted by a thin line of red, then swallowed in panic as it detonated just under his stomach. The homunculus was shelled in the proceeding explosion.

"I'm sorry, Envy," Mustang said from afar, "but we were interrupted. Please, do continue." He scowled as Envy regenerated from charcoal. "We were discussing Hughes, were we not?"

The homunculus opened his mouth to speak, but something unusual caught his eye. It began as a small glow; three floors up and a few meters to the side, the Gurners' small apartment had become illuminated by soft lavender, which burst into a violent purple the moment Envy directed his full attention towards it. The air around the room was sliced into pieces, then refused systematically, creating a small, pressurize maelstrom. By the time of eruption, however, Mustang, Hawkeye, and Armstrong, had long noticed the phenomenon, and the former most was preparing pursuit.

"Major, take care of Envy!" The colonel knelt down and scribbled on the street with a stray rock.

"Roger!" Armstrong turned again to fend the homunculus, but by the time the man had poised himself once more, the creature had disappeared into the city's darkness. The street, though illuminated, was vacant. "What…?"

Mustang completed his circle, and placed himself on top of it. "Lieutenant, hold on to me!"

"Sir!" Her arms were secured around his stomach, rifle on back, and Mustang crossed his hands over the chalked cobblestone. It sparked bits of blue, which was then embedded into the colonel's drawings. "Do you think they're all right?" Hawkeye asked.

"I don't know," the man said, "but you certainly took your sweet time showing up here, Fullmetal!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** _If__ you review just to tell me that I broke multiple writing rules in this, I'm sticking my fingers in my ears, 'cause I promise I won't be randomly switching perspectives in this again. I only noticed that I had after having written the whole thing so, as you can imagine, I was rather disinclined to go back and fix it._

_Oh well. Reviews are cinnamon-flavored love, and concrit is always welcome. : 3 Thanks!_


	2. Execution II

**Portrait**

**Ch. 1 ½: Execution II**

**Author's Note:** _Oh yeah, second part of chapter one, because I don't consider this a second chapter, but it's all too long to be together._

_Also, this is where things get kinda really trippy. Just roll with it. It's only for a chapter._

_I'm gonna try to update this every two to three (MAYBE four) weeks, so that way I can stay consistent. Also, yeah, most of my chapters are episode length so they're pretty huge. Read 'em in intervals. _

**Disclaimer:**_ I still don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. But these cheap-ass OCs? They're mine._

_

* * *

_

"…Natalie, can you move?"

Natalie Gurner cracked open her eyes to a fuzzy, darkened room. Her grandmother was at her side, appearing only as a peach mass as she leaned over the young girl with bloodstained clothes. Inches in front of her nose—this being pressed against the floor—were three large wooden boards, each scarred with chalk encryptions depicting a myriad of symbols and circles. The walls of the room were also decorated with four extra boards, identical to one another yet differing from the wood on the floor. Several cabinets, shelves, and frames sat face down on the ground circling the array of alchemy. All was as it should have been, save a small pile of red tissues and a spoon that had been placed down onto the plank before her. Natalie took a painful breath, then blinked.

"Tissue...?" She rolled over to her side and threw up.

"Natalie, you gotta stay still. I just bandaged you up, too," Florence said. She turned the youth onto her back, despite the groans that followed her actions.

"I'm alive," she whimpered.

"You're a miracle child, I'll give you that," the old woman said. "But even miracles never last."

"So... I'm dying?"

Florence removed the excess materials from on top of the board, and sighed. "I'm no doctor, Natalie." She stood up, revealing a second body beside her. "All I'm good for is diggin' out bullets. I wouldn't count on you seeing anything outside this room ever again."

"Grandma," the girl said, "where's daddy?"

Florence did not respond, staring down at her apron.

"Is that daddy?" Natalie asked, facing the other peach mass behind Florence. This one appeared much shorter than herself, and far more red on the bottom. "Grandma? Daddy's not sleeping, is he?"

"Natalie, dear..."

"He can't be sleeping. We have work to do." Natalie made an effort to pick up her arm. "Please wake up, daddy. Please? I can't do this by myself."

The elder clenched the ends of her apron as the calling continued.

"Daddy? Daddy? Please wake up..."

"Natalie," her grandmother whispered, "sweety..."

"C'mon daddy. Please wake up—"

"Oh, stop kiddin' yourself, Natalie!" Florence said. She watched as the young girl's focus drifted from the body, then back to her grandmother's face, wrinkled further in a frown. Her eyes were wide and pitiful, as though she had just been kicked in the face. The old woman bit her lip, and bent down to caress the girl's stomach, just below her wound. "Just stop. He was gone before he hit the ground."

"No..." Natalie reached out for the body, praying for a hand in return, but the man did not move. "Daddy..." She started to cry. "No, no! Grandma, I can't do this by myself." She choked as the pain in her stomach ate the girl alive. "I can't do this alone. I'm gonna die!"

Florence became stern. "Don't say that!"

"I don't wanna die!"

"You're not gonna die!" The woman slapped Natalie across the face, which was met with mild shock. The youth stared at her grandmother. "For God's sake, you're not gonna die. You've been working on this for years. You'll be fine." She smiled as best she could, and strength returned slowly returned to the grounded child, only to be crushed by a blow through the ceiling plaster.

"What the hell?!" Florence ran to the back of the room and snagged a shotgun from under an askew cabinet as the white material rained upon Natalie's stomach. She waited for the dust to clear, aiming her arm, though she came to find that it was not a battery ram, bomb, nor gun that had punched through her ceiling, but a small metal hand had done the deed, hanging from where the wall had originally been. It sat it place for a moment, dangling; then it twisted around like a corkscrew, shook up and down, and _then_ flailed back and forth as the edge of the palm hammered against the rim of the ceiling hole. This persisted for another minute, both Natalie and Florence watching in amazement, but, as expected, it was followed up with more dangling. Muffed voices commenced conversation.

"Al… Al! I'm stuck!"

There was a sigh. "See? I told you it wouldn't work. You don't have to be cool all the time, you know…"

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, sometimes you have a way of… well…"

"Of what?!"

"Making a spectacle of yourself."

"I am _not _making a spectacle of myself! I was just trying to get through the rooftop!"

"But you didn't have to _punch_ through it! That's what alchemy is for!"

"For what, punching through walls?! My hand is way more suited for that job!"

"Clearly…"

"Shut up, Al! Just lend me a hand, will ya?"

"Yes, big brother…"

Florence wiped off her newly acquired look of disbelief and pulled the trigger at the metal hand. It ricocheted off the steel surface and skimmed the upper most threads of her apron strap. She froze, petrified by the close encounter.

"B-Brother? What was that?!"

"Shh! Quiet!"

"Was that a gu—"

"Shush!"

After that, their words became too soft to follow through the barrier of plaster and hand; then at last Florence was able to make out one simple stream of language:

"One…"

One clap.

"Two…"

Another clap. Florence recognized the signals, and brought herself to load and fire three more shots through the rooftop: one for penetration, two for the kill.

"Ahh! She's shooting at us! Big brother, she's shooting at us!"

"I know, I know! Don't focus on that! Just do it!"

There was a small tap at the ceiling, and two final voices sounded from above:

"Three!"

A tiny crack ruptured just beside the steel hand. The old woman watched piece by piece as shards of plaster were unhinged and drifted down from above, and then she looked back just below Natalie's neck, where the shards were landing. Foreseeing the tragedy to come, Florence tossed her gun aside and rushed under the collapsing ceiling to scoop her granddaughter up from the line of rubble. They both managed to escape, just dodging a pair of red and black leather boots, and collided with one of the capsized cabinets.

Natalie, having been physically upset, spilled some blood from her wound and mouth. Florence wiped the girl's lips before focusing on the lingering dust, clearing into the shape of two figures. Once the air was translucent, a pair of alchemists appeared before her: one was small, blonde, clad in a sharp, red coat; the other large, shelled inside armor of equal proportions. The elder held her granddaughter tight.

"God, it smells in here," the blonde boy said, covering his nose and mouth.

"It must be the fire," the armor said. "I can't smell it, but I bet the smoke is really heavy. We can't stay here too long."

"Got that right—" The child froze, and allowed his eyes to drift around the room. First, they came across an elderly woman, followed up by her arms wrapped around a smaller, bleeding girl. A few feet away from the second child lay several boards of alchemy, and half of a man's ripped up corpse, reeking of iron and pale as snow. His backside was faintly purple.

Upon seeing this, the blonde felt of shiver stab at his spine, met by the chilling of his flesh. "What… what…!" He clutched his mouth, nausea taking over.

"A… A corpse?!" The armor stumped back in shock, though its expression remained unchanged. Its left foot, however, land upon a soft stretch of wood while back tracking, and his ever shifting weight broke clear through the cheap apartment floorboards. The suit crashed through the wood and into the story below, taking one of the chalked boards with him.

"Al!" The alchemist broke from his disturbance and ran over to the hole. Smoke rose from the depths. "Al! Al! Are you okay? Alphonse!"

Florence set Natalie beside the furthest chalk circle and reached for the gun. "Don't you dare!" She loaded a bullet and fired at the boy. He craned his neck to force his shoulder upwards, and the bullet shred through his coat and clothes before ricocheting off his arm.

"Dear Lord Almighty…" the elder whispered. "Is that automail?"

"Yeah," the child said, "what of it?"

"Damn… I should've seen it b'fore." Florence tightened the grip on her gun. "You're the little brat everyone's talking about."

At this, the child flinched, but restrained himself on account of the arm she bared.

"Yeah," the woman continued, "a particular midget walkin' around with some man in a suit of armor. Say he's red as a lobster and about the same size."

The child was streaming with rage, his face as red as his lobster back.

Florence frowned. "And the youngest State Alchemist to have ever lived."

"Hn," the blonde sneered. "That much I can agree with."

Florence steadied her aim. "You're that Edward Elric… the Fullmetal Alchemist!"

"Who's allergic to pineapples!"

Edward Elric, in all his glory and dignity, snapped. "Pineapples?! What?! Just who the hell're you callin' a microscopic, red faced, fruit aversive midg— Wait." The boy paused. "Al?"

"Down here!" Alphonse Elric said, waving though unseen. "I got buried under a bunch of stuff… And everything's on fire, too! Kinda scary. It's a good thing no one's around."

"Good. How's your armor? Did anything get dam—"

"Shut up, Fullmetal Brat!" Florence pulled a shot from her apron into Edward's chest, but his face was unwavering. The same, mechanical hand appeared before the bullet's target, and the projectile was captured by sleek, steel cylinders branching from a silver palm. The alchemist dropped the bullet as the elder's pupils dilated, and he rose from his knees.

The gunshot grabbed the attention of both Natalie, fading away to her father, and Alphonse, still invisible and blind to the scene.

"Big Brother?" he cried. "Are you okay?! Brother!"

"I'm fine…" Edward said, watching Florence quiver in fear. "I'm perfectly fine."

"How…" Florence reached into her apron pocket and felt two more bullets inside. She revealed one to the alchemist before her and loaded her gun. She looked between the boy and Natalie, who was waiting for the chance to execute her alchemy. Florence then smiled, and pointed the arm at her granddaughter. The target's heart skipped a vital beat.

"Leave or she dies. Put everything back where it was and leave," the woman said.

"H-Hey! Calm down, lady!" Edward said, alarmed. "No need for hostages—"

"Just shut up and do what I say!"

"We'll put everything back the way it was! Just don't shoot!" Alphonse shouted from below. He glanced down at by his feet, where the board laid in tack, and studied its patterns. He eased his hands down towards it.

"Grandma…" Natalie raised her head and stared at the woman.

Edward glanced at the girl. "What the hell? 'Grandma'?" He thought a moment. "So now you're gonna shoot your own granddaughter?"

"I just want my demands met!" Florence said. "You military bitches aren't gonna tell us what to do! This is where the Gurners make their mark in history!" The old woman began to cry. "You assholes can't stop us!"

"Gurners…" Edward uttered under his breath. He looked to the ceiling and sighed. "We get it, okay?" Edward gently brought his hands together. "We can fix this, alright?"

"Damn straight you will!"

The alchemist bore a nervous grin. "Yes, ma'am." He picked up a piece of plaster and brought his hands together, then placed the automail palm against the dorsum of his flesh hand. A thread of white spiraled off from the shard of plaster, and was reorganized into a faint chalk-like circle upon his left hand. It pulsed a quiet blue until fading away.

"Hey! What were you just doing?!" Florence said. "I'll shoot her ass off unless you give me a reason not to!"

Edward flinched. "I was just…" The boy looked down at for assistance. A gloved thumbs up appeared through the hole. He faced Florence once more, and allowed a thin, devious grin to slide into place. "I was just thinking about your unbearably fat ass."

"You…!" Florence's gun trembled within her hand at the point rested at Natalie's forehead. "Shitty punk!" She forced her aim away from her granddaughter and let it scramble across Edward's chest.

"Al!" the boy said. "To the left!"

"Roger!" A bullet tore across to room to the blonde child's breast, only to be stopped by a jagged line of uprooted floorboards.

"You bastard!" Florence began to load her second bullet, when a larger wooden shield crawled straight out from the story below. Edward concealed his body behind the board, and the old woman, through furious, could not touch him.

"The last circle!" Florence reached out to seize control of it once more.

"Gotcha!" A clap sounded from behind the board, followed by a sapphire flash, and the wooden shield was sliced in two at the swipe of a small, steal blade. Edward rose from behind the board and charged the elder with his edge-out automail.

"Dammit!" Florence attempted a shot at the child's head, but she found herself bound by planks in a second's time. Branches of wood fastened her wrists and ankles to the ground, arcing over her limbs and tying them into submission. The gun glided across the apartment room and out of the woman's reach.

"Now then…" Florence's eyes veered upward as the alchemist loomed over her, his blade distanced above the woman's head. "I have a few questions for you."

"You just try!" she yelled. "I ain't tellin' ya shit! You hear me?! Shit!"

"Okay then." Edward's sword dissipated back into its original state, and the remaining mechanical hand bopped the elder out of consciousness. Her back fell against the street-facing wall.

Natalie watched as her grandmother's eyelids met. She became cold.

"That damned Colonel…" Edward said, standing straight. "He owes me a frickin' pot of gold for doing all this at three in the morning."

"At least we found the Gurners," Al said, hoisting himself up from the second floor. "That way, maybe Lieutenant Hawkeye and the others can rest easy."

"Doubt it." The blonde child walked over to the edge of the hole. "It'll be even harder to report back to headquarters with half a Mr. Gurner." He cringed at the thought, but did not turn to face it. "Now c'mon up."

Gauntlets met, and Alphonse brought himself to the third floor. "Even so," he said, "it's better than nothing."

"…You're right."

The brothers turned their attention towards Natalie, who was attempting to raise her arms off the ground.

"Daddy… never had a chance in the first place. Even though we worked so hard…" She brought her fingers on top of the closest alchemy board. "He ended up dying. He left me. And then Grandma left me, too."

"Hey," Edward said, "I didn't kill your grandma, I swear. I just knocked her out. I would never—"

"Liar," she whispered.

"What?" The alchemist frowned. "I didn't! I don't kill people, I swear." He approached the girl. "Now c'mon! We have to get to a hospital! If you sit there any longer you'll bleed to death."

"You can ride on my back if you want!" Alphonse said. "It's nice and smooth and there's plenty of room."

"Let's go," Edward said. He reached down under Natalie's body.

"Don't touch me," she warned.

"I don't care if you threaten me." The blonde brought his second arm underneath. "We're going to help you."

Natalie began to scream_. _"I said 'don't touch me'!"

The bleeding child slammed her hands down against the board closest to her face. A soft lavender light traced over the alchemy circles, and then radiated outwards. The air around them began to mangle itself and rip itself apart, only to be reconstructed by the light into its original state. As the maelstrom became more violent, the transmutation bolt became darker, molding into a deeper violet with every reaction.

"What—" Edward dropped Natalie and backed away. "Just what the hell did you do?! Hey!"

The girl said nothing; breathing heavy, her eyes closed. Pressurized wind whipped at her limp body.

"Big brother," Alphonse cried, "what's going on?"

"I don't know! I haven't seen this kind of alchemy before," the boy said. "Just hurry up and destroy the boards! And keep your seal covered!"

Alphonse clapped and sealed the blood circle with a layer of his own armor, then brought his foot into multiple boards on the floor. The wood was crushed against the ground, but the circles, having lost their base, dispersed into the ferocious gales of the apartment room, feeding its strength.

"It's not working!" Alphonse said. "Brother!"

Edward scooped up Natalie and walked her over to the armor's care. "C'mon! We hafta find the Colonel and get her outside!"

"Okay!"

A minute red light appeared just beyond the window of the apartment; it flashed into an explosion, eating straight threw the wall facing the asphalt battleground upon which Florence's body sat. Edward and Alphonse watched as two soldiers emerged from the smoke, both wounded in reds of their own. The male helped the female over the rock pillar from which they came, and they brace themselves against the fierce winds, their feet sliding just before the cliff of wood.

"Colonel! Lieutenant!" the brothers said.

"Full—"A fragment of wood smacked Mustang in the forehead, which was wiped away in rage. "Fullmetal! The hell took you so long?" he yelled.

Edward pouted. "The hell kinda question is that?!"

"The hell kinda response is that?!"

"The hell kinda response is _that_?!"

Alphonse exhaled over the bickering. "_Guys!_ The Gurners…!" The iron child caught a shift at the corner of his eye; something of large proportions was on the move. He turned his head to focus on it. "C-Colonel! Beside you!"

Both Hawkeye and the man looked down to the left of their feet. Florence was awake, inching to the edge of the burnt hole that Mustang had created, sliding to a fate just yards away from her husband's own. Mustang pulled out his sidearm, but before he could get a shot, Florence was airborne, her hand around the colonel's ankle. He subsequently lost his balance, and began to follow through to the distant asphalt himself.

"Colonel Mustang!" Hawkeye caught hold of her superior's glove in time, much to her calf's disapproval, but failed to secure herself against the wood whilst hauling such an enormous amount of weight, and began to slide to her demise as well. "Sir…" she said, struggling to get her chest back onto the floorboards, "I can't…" She felt pressure applied to her ankles, too, and glanced back at Alphonse.

"Hold on, Lieutenant!" he said. He attempted to pull her back to safety, causing the woman much discomfort. She cried out in pain, and her wound became active again.

"Lieutenant!" Mustang glared down at Florence, wriggling at his boots. "Let go! You'll get us all killed!"

"Serves you right," she said, "ya military bitch!" She reached above her and squeezed at the colonel's knee ligaments. "I'll see you in hell!"

"No one shall enter such a place on _my_ watch!" Armstrong declared. The major, sparkling against the fire raging before him, flexed into his rescue mission muscles and started towards the dangling chain of people.

"Major, no!" Mustang said. "Just focus on stopping what's causing this crazy storm! That's space-time alchemy! It can't go unchecked for a second!"

The hunky alchemist stopped. "But, sir—"

"That's an order, Major!" Mustang yelled. "Now go!"

"S-Sir!" Armstrong cleared himself a pathway through the fire from the first floor and proceeded up the burning stairs.

"What…" The colonel rolled his eyes. "Major! Through here—" Mustang was cut off at the sensation of nails digging into his flesh. Florence was still holding tight.

"Don't even _think_ about messing this up," she growled. "If you do, you'll ruin everything that girl has left to live for!"

"Stop that…" Mustang pointed the end of his barrel above her head, but Florence took notice of this, and began to swing back and forth on the colonel legs, hindering his physical state and destroying his aim. "Damn you, stay still!" Mustang fired multiple rounds below him, one by one piercing holes into the cemented rocks on the ground. A fifth bullet logged itself into shoulder joint of Florence's lifeline, and the muscles between the two began to stretch from underneath the skin and rip apart. The old woman screamed and shrieked under the pressure, but did not let go. Instead, her nails buried themselves deeper into the colonel's flesh, causing the punctured area to seep red. A sixth bullet pierced through her other arm, but produced no different results.

"Colonel!" Hawkeye reached for the rifle latched on her back, but failed to grasp onto it.

"Lieutenant!" Alphonse yelled from above, "What's going on?! What was that?!"

"The colonel… Ahh!" The woman grit her teeth against the pain from her wound.

"'The colonel' what?! _What?!_" Alphonse turned around towards Edward. "Brother, brother! You have to gimme a hand here! The lieut—"

Alphonse was caught mid-sentence when he made out his older brother. Edward – Natalie in the same predicament just to the side of him – was spread on the ground, completely void of consciousness. The only signs of life he still had to offer were the miniscule expansions of his chest, a trait that could not be identified in the girl lying beside him.

Alphonse proceeded to panic. "Big brother?! Are you okay?! C'mon! Get up!" No responses emerged from the boy. "Ed! Get up already!" the armor yelled. "Ed! Edward! Edwa—!" But these words, too, were left to hang.

"Alphonse, what's wrong?" Hawkeye threw over her head over her shoulder for a second, but there was no response; the armor was motionless. The grip upon the woman's legs disappeared, and she began to slip off the side of the cliff once more. "Alphonse?!" Hawkeye latched herself on the ledge created by the explosion, but this hope was coming undone at a dangerous pace. She opened her mouth to call the child's name once more, silenced by an orchestra of crashing iron plates and padding against wood left her jaw hanging open, then prompt into motion by the several cracks that shifted the ground underneath her. "Alphonse, answer me! What's wrong?!" It was of no avail.

"Lieutenant!" Roy shifted his attention from the swinging hag to the woman above. "What's going on up there?"

Hawkeye met his eyes for but a moment. "Alphonse has collapsed, sir! I don't know why!"

"Collapsed?" He felt a jerk at his ankle, then in his wounded shoulder. Florence's arm, as the two of them were able to speculate, was pulling father from the socket in her shoulder. A glance at his own arm, and Mustang realized that he was in just as much danger. In response, the man scrambled his way up the Lieutenant with all his strength, his wound on fire, and managed to bring his hand within inches of the ledge to the apartment building.

"Oh no, ya don't!" Florence made an endeavor to climb up the man, as well, but found herself unable to withstand in burn in her shoulders as they continued to stretch.

"Get the fuck… off!" Mustang planted his free hand onto the burnt platform and kicked his legs back and forth. The elder managed three final swings before her arm was ripped clean from her body, sending Florence airborne in a scream and gush of crimson. She fell almost two stories below to the ground, were she rested in a puddle of blood, just two yards off from her late husband.

"Lieutenant, quick!" Mustang said. "Help me up!" The grip on the man's wrist abruptly became loose, and his injured arm flopped down back to his side. He struggled to stay on the ledge, but injured shoulder would not come up. Dangling the colonel became desperate to stay attached. "Lieutenant!" he yelled. "Lieutenant, First Lieutenant! The hell'd you let go for?! Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

But she did not respond. Instead, the man discovered her body to be hunched over the edge of the apartment, void of any remote signs of consciousness save the soft and rhythmic contraction of her lips and chest. She was breathing, and that was the extent of things. Her eyes remained closed.

"_Lieutenant!_"

And still, they were closed.

An emptiness consumed the man, stealing his breath away and drawing strength from his muscles. At first, he perceived it to be shock – the sudden numbness melting his senses had also frozen his heart – but the effects proved to be much more powerful than a simple shift of emotions. The colonel found himself limp, his body an empty shell, and although he tried to fight the sensation it swept him into darkness faster than he could ever perceive. His hand released its grip on the edge of the apartment floorboards, and Mustang's body sailed down to the bloodied street below.

The maelstrom began to quiet, lifting chaos from the air as the violet rage simmered down to lavender once more, and then into nothing at all. From rapid gales came a simple breeze, until the entire reaction was balled together into a small purple orb. The concentration levitated over the center of the alchemic boards for another moment, only to implode, and disappear.

Armstrong's presence approached the entrance to the apartment, and ripped it with due his sheer, unadulterated awesome. The front door flew into pieces across the apartment as he stepped inside.

"Colonel Mustang, sir!" the man yelled, his pecks roaring across the blazing building's halls. "I have come to—"

The major looked around. The apartment was silent; not a single object moved, nor did a single being stir, and a small line of bodies and iron curled around the apartment floors and into the ledge of the burnt hole. Slices appeared in the walls and furniture had been thrown aside, broken through collision, but all centering around three wooden boards in the middle of the room. There were also four other boards hanging on the walls, bearing different patterns, and they too, remained untouched.

His mustache hung open as the hunk collected his flabbergasted self. "…Save you…"

* * *

_Stick around 'til next chapter! If you do, you get candy (and an anti-Nazi!parallel universe). …Reviews, please?_


	3. The Transcending

**Portrait**

**Ch. 2: The Transcending**

**Author's Note:** _Oh ho ho, sadism, sadism… btw! This is where the "AU" part comes in._

_For this chapter, you can check the signs. ~ If I start a vignette with one of these squiggly tildes here (these: ~), then it's the AU. ~ But if I end a vignette with a tilde, then that means we've just left the AU, and we're (sotra) back in the manga-verse (which is technically now an AU as well … whatever). If I start with a tilde, but don't end in one, that means we're still in the AU, so the next vignette or so should end in one. Just look for the other tilde for the exit. _

_If this system ends up sucking, then I'll figure something even simpler out. I just don't want to label things and break the flow of the story or whatever. _

**Disclaimer:** _I see no metal, hear no metal, yet speak Hagaren quite fluently._

~ Alphonse awoke with a jolt.

His entire body rocked forward at the jostle of an automobile, thrusting him out of his subconscious state and back into the hands of a midday reality. The first sight his weary eyes drank in was the blur of a black leather chair in front of him; scrolling down a little more he found his legs, jeaned over, and then his shoes, brown and scuffed, both crossed over one another in a nonchalant fashion. He also mistook them for someone else's, but there was an unusual sensation lingering just under his physical perception that kept informing him otherwise. What was it called again? Alphonse vaguely remembered this mysterious pulsating, but its name was slipping from his mind, and each time he managed to catch onto it again it escaped from his grasp. The whole ordeal was quite maddening, really. There was just something about this feeling that continued to elude all his efforts—

…_Feeling…_

Yes.

That was it.

Nerve endings, electrical messaging, neurological interpretations, and back again. He remembered. The cool breeze whipping across his face, the gentle creases of a woolen polo rubbing against his chest, and the sticky car seat coated in sweat just beneath his hands – he could feel it. All of it.

But that wasn't the extent of things.

String of matter reverberated against his nose, sending images of car exhaust, rolling meadows, and oily hair to the boy's curious and stimulated mind. Though intangible, their influence was strong, and each string was unique to its origin. His mouth watered, craving the recollection of things he could smell, then _consume!_ – yes, he could do that, too. His nose brought them in, and his tongue felt them out: this was the pleasure of dining at its finest, distant once but distant no more. He could breathe in his surroundings and interpret its delectability, or even how they made him feel. Whether he coughed violently or was seized by delight did not matter, but only that he could do these and describe his experiences. He could do all these things… and more.

…He was _alive_.

Alphonse, for the first time in five years, _felt_ _alive_.

"You awake, Al?"

The boy jumped, interrupted from his dazed contemplation, and turned to his side. The voice sounded familiar – of this much he could be certain – but he had not yet had the chance to examine the extent of his surroundings, and thus did not realize that he was accompanied in the automobile. In retrospect, Alphonse reprimanded himself; how the hell could he be left alone, _unconscious_, in a speeding car that was still in one, non-conflagrated piece?

"Oh, yeah." Alphonse rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, brother. Guess I sorta dozed off."

He paused, then flinched back in shock. The words simply seemed to roll off his tongue. He had smiled at the blonde to his right, throwing at the teen a nonchalant apology, and dismissed the matter as natural behavior, not even realizing the gravity of their exchange. He was asleep. How long had it been since he had done that? Wait… exactly who was he even _talking_ to?

A simple glance to his left, and Alphonse found himself staring, flabbergasted; he was instantly stripped of any and all emotion save a thick layer of shock on his face. There, just two seats to his right, sat a blonde, golden-eyed boy, bearing a small smile as he was addressed. His left arm rested upon his black, jean-clad lap, while the other, void of anything but the purity of human flesh, balanced his lounging position against the car door. He scratched at the deep blue t-shirt over his chest, then made a face at Alphonse.

"…What…?" Edward Elric shifted his eyebrows. "Is there something on my face, er…"

Alphonse jumped, then forced his head toward the opposite window. "No, no! Nothing… sorry." He took one more glimpse back to confirm that he had not mistaken it for something else. And he hadn't.

Edward's automail… was gone.

"Okay…" Edward fixed his body so that his shoulder held him against his side of the car. "Whatever." He glanced up towards the driver seat. "Hey, mom?"

Alphonse froze, and slowly brought his eyes forward.

"Yes, Ed?"

Chestnut hair flared as the car struck another bump.

"How much longer're we gonna be?"

Smooth, pale skin poked out behind her black leather chair.

"Ed, we've been through this before."

Gentle green eyes came out from hiding for a quick glance at the mischievous blonde. The irises smiled, so that the small pink lips below didn't have to. "I told you that we would get there when we get there. I'm doing the best I can, dear."

"Yeah, but Heiderich and I got a game to play this afternoon! You said we'd be back before three!"

"And I will honor that the best I can, but we have to _get_ there first." Trisha Elric returned to her position at the driver's seat.

There was a sigh. "Fine…" A pause, and ruffles sounded to Alphonse's left. "Al…?"

But the boy could not turn his head. His lips moved, silent; words faded and bled into the air just as quickly as they were produced. It was only a moment or so later that he was able to talk again, speech still fragile at the touch.

"Mom…" he said. "Mom…"

Edward looked at him. "Al?"

"Mom…" His hand buried his face. "Mommy… mommy…"

Trisha's head cocked the slightest bit. "Yes, honey?"

Alphonse's voice became hoarse, his cheeks wet. "Mommy…" He hiccupped and burst into tears.

"Al?" Trisha seemed distressed. "Al, dear, what's wrong?"

Edward stared at the boy, his face contorted with worry. "Alphonse… what the hell happened?

Alphonse then proceeded to wipe his face against his palms and sleeves. "I'm…" He removed his hands from his face, revealing soft, golden hair dripping over his flustered eyes and cheeks. "I'm okay. I just…" The boy looked up at Edward, and began to tear up again.

"I just had this horrible dream…" ~

* * *

The building had completely collapsed.

The fire had eaten it whole, and by the time the firefighters arrived the building had burned far beyond the point of salvation. Everything laid askew, ash ridden; for a block there was charcoal to be noted, and for five more blocks there stood not one single pedestrian. Officials from the capital building and workers from the local fire department lined the damaged streets, inspecting the level of destruction dealt and the varied holes in the ground. These "holes," as well a multitude of stray shards of asphalt scattered across the ground, were freckled with various rectangular branches. An officer knelt over a handful of said shards, made a few notes on his clipboard through the dim morning light, and jogged over to another uniformed man.

"Sir," he began, saluting the superior, "the markings observed in the upper sections of the street are identical to those closer to the building, as well. They appear to be the work of alchemy, sir."

The man turned around, an elongated frown splitting his face in two. Three lines marked his shoulder boards, the middle line far thicker than the others, and a handful of awards decorated his chest. "Very good, Sergeant. Inform Major General Raven of your findings and report back to headquarters with a sample for further analyzing."

"Yes, sir!" The sergeant ran to back to one of the myriad of cars parked around the crime scene.

The brigadier general sighed. "Dammit…" He clenched his fists under the memories of the previous night. "Fucking Mustang…"

A small black automobile came to a stop a few meters to his right, skidding just before a large asphalt cylinder. First, a lowly officer chauffer emerged, walking around to the passenger's seat. Out of this seat, though, came a much more stately man, bearing many more stars on his shoulders than his observer, and an eyepatch on his left eye. He stared at the brigadier general for a second, smiled, and came forth to greet him. A few other men followed in his footsteps, but they were dismissed with a wave, and instructed to wait at the car until he was to return.

"Good morning, your Excellency," the man said as he was approached.

"Good morning. Let's go for a walk, shall we?" He walked straight past him, and into the ruins.

"Yes, sir." Führer King Bradley was followed into the rubble and shadows of a six o' clock sunrise.

* * *

They walked in silence, waiting for a sign of safety. The sins had traveled through the better part of the crime scene, after virtually all souls assigned to examine the area had been ordered to vacate, and both homunculi were nearing a border of sorts – a border defining the break between the buildings that had suffered from fire damage and the buildings evacuated for safety reasons. It was a short walk, but an excruciating journey considering the circumstances that were to surface, and Envy, still in his pompous disguise, was struggling to retain the anger that boiled inside him. His face was fixed on Wrath's back. He envisioned it smeared in crimson, and the weight of the journey was lifted a tad.

"Wrath! Envy~!"

An obese figure in black greeted the two men, skinning all pleasure from the atmosphere. His mouth was cover in splitters as he waved his corpulent hands in the air, but a quick stream of lightning patched up the damage and dropped the wooden fragments to the ground.

Envy groaned from afar. "Dammit, Gluttony! Didn't I tell you not to eat the evidence?" At this, the lump shrugged, apologized, then sat down.

"Well now, you're one to talk, _brigadier general_," countered Wrath, steps before the shape shifter.

Envy grit his teeth in disgust, then flashed a bright red up through his body. His muscles shrunk and paled, and the military uniform was stripped and replaced by slabs of black cloth. Lances of greasy charcoal hair sprouted forth from the top of his head, bundled up in a dark headband. "And what's that supposed to mean, you filthy shithead?" he said, grinding his new leather boots into the ground.

"It means you shouldn't have gone after Mustang without Father's permission," Wrath said, "and you_ certainly_ shouldn't have threatened his physical condition."

"His involvement in this was _your_ idea, wasn't it?" Envy yelled. "Besides, I couldn't control any of that! That crazy-ass Gurner guy was running around clapping his fucking hands everywhere… It's not like we could _do_ anything about it!"

"I involved Mustang because he was the most powerful alchemist still _conscious_ at the hour, and the only one accessible with preset, long distance alchemy circles," the Führer said. "Regardless—" He leaned in on Envy's malevolent face. "This isn't _about_ Gurner. _You_ were the one who attacked him after the Gurners disappeared." The androgyne bared his teeth. "Am I wrong?"

Envy shook with rage. "…You didn't know her like I did."

"That has nothing to do with this—"

"_It has everything to do with this!_"

Wrath backtracked an inch, caught off guard by the sudden elevation in volume. Gluttony sank into his knees, these clenched by his limbs of girth. The memories settled into his mind, and the black mass began to tear up.

"…You wouldn't understand," Envy uttered, looking away, "you getting to handpick your own precious whore n' all." He squinted, consumed by his own essence, then faced Wrath. The homunculus was visibly displeased. "But with me… _I_ had to watch her prostitute herself whenever _you_ or _Father_ needed answers. She was like a puppet. So she got fucked in the ass like the obedient doll she was. Great!" In the heat of his words, Envy's body language grew violent. "Now we can all celebrate because she's got cum up where she shits that belongs to someone _she barely even knows_, and you're able to fill out the crossword puzzle in your fucking Sunday paper! Awesome! Spectacular! Let's ship her off to one of Mustang's bitches next, shall we?! But wait? What's this? Just when she's finally about to give up the ghost on _that _sad excuse of a manwhore, Colonel Shit-For-Brains waltzes in and combusts her ass _ten times _in a row!Ten times! Whose idea was _that,_ huh?! 'Cause it sure as fuck wasn't mine!"

"Your emotional compromise doesn't excuse you from your actions, Envy," Wrath said.

"Do you think I even _give_ a shit?!" The androgyne hoisted up Wrath's uniform. Wrath remained unwavering. "Lust is dead! That Mustang asshole killed her! And yet you're acting like she never existed, when in reality, she's _at least_ a hundred years older than you are! That woman had been a full-fledged sin since before your were even _born!_"

"_Don't_ make the mistake of assuming that I didn't care about her," the Führer snapped, "but we have a job to do, in case you've forgotten – a job you could have put at serious risk had you wound up killing the colonel."

"And I would have! He deserves it!"

"While he might, there are a great deal of sacrifices that his death would make." Wrath narrowed his exposed eye. "I'm sure Pride spent time on addressing this point, did he not?"

The elder homunculus averted Wrath's face in exchange for a view of his boots. "…A little bit, yeah."

"A little bit? I heard he torn a limb each time you tried to shut him up," Wrath said. "You know he'd never stand for that."

Envy grimaced. He could feel it, remember it; the sensation of slow, painful dismemberment had haunted his nerves since he was dragged into the shadows just three hours prior. No matter how many times he was rejuvenated, the feeling would not disappear. "I know…" The grip on the Führer's uniform was released, and he dropped to his knees. "I know…"

"Stand, Envy," Wrath commanded. "You're embarrassing us."

"Yeah, I seem to be real fuckin' good at that lately," the androgyne said. In time, he did stand, but his face exposed a psychological injury beyond repair.

"Just be sure to control your emotions from now on. You are an important part of this team, and it would be a shame to lose you." The way the words came out, Envy almost mistook them for heartfelt, but the malicious aura produced afterwards kept him from any misinterpretations.

"Whatever." The two looked over towards Gluttony, who had dug a hole in the ground with his melancholic appetite. Envy ran his hand flat across his neck, and the mass obeyed, dropping his compulsive dirt feast.

"Now, what exactly do we have so far?" Wrath asked, getting to the matter at hand. "I need a full report to relay to Father by noon."

"Yeah, yeah." Envy changed back into his military get up and cleared his throat, when the two homunculi caught sight of a clipboard dropping just outside their border of rubble. Looking further into the scene, they discovered that two soldiers investigating the streets had made their way into the ruins, and now stood with their eyes wide as their mouth was agape. A camera soon followed the clipboard to the ground, and they slowly backed away.

"M… monster…" one managed out. "What… the hell just…"

"Oh, did you see that?" Envy asked. "'Cause, I thought it was pretty cool."

Wrath sighed. "You also need to learn to control your volume."

"F… Führer Bradley, sir!" The second man pulled a gun on the shape shifter. "A… arms in the air!" he commanded. "St-step away from the Führer!"

Envy looked back and forth between the two men shaking in their not-as-cool leather boots (which he had not bothered to revert to), and slid a smirk across his smug, bloodthirsty face. "And what happens if I don't, ya smelly faggot?"

"Then—" The armed soldier staggered in his stance. His eyes were painted with fear. "Then I'll shoot!"

"This is quite the dilemma, indeed," Wrath said. He glanced at Envy, and the androgyne nodded.

"H-Hey…! I s-said arms in the air!" The soldier was struggling for control over his own gun. "Führer, p-please, d-don't make any sudden movements—"

But the sentence, timed to perfection, was sliced in two by the tip of a silver saber, much like the stomach of the solider that owned the words. Blood flew out from the wound, dirtying the homunculi's chests in red, and intestines spattered to the ground from a ring of exposed organ systems once tied together by ribs and skin. The upper half of the man enjoyed two seconds of airtime before thudding against the debris – face going blank upon contact – and his diaphragm was knocked out position from under his lungs with more crimson spats. The lower half of the body collapsed backwards, more hanging organs and blood to follow.

Wrath sheathed his saber, already running through its cleaning procedures in his mind, and Envy, understanding that Wrath felt his job complete, decided to showcase his pearly whites before spilling more man onto the crime scene. The remaining soldier, who had been far too terrified to even consider moving his limbs, dropped to his knees and began to mumble.

"Why…" he muttered. "You're… the Führer… h-how…"

Envy rolled his eyes. "Yo, Gluttony!"

The mass sitting to the side of the ordeal perked up. "Yes?"

"Are you _hungry?_"

Gluttony paused, processing the query, then found his tongue bleeding saliva onto the floor. His expression transformed from curiosity to malicious craving. "Can I eat him?" he asked.

"Sure!" Envy said, facing the human meal. "In fact, why don't you start with the _head?_" The line's objective, much to the homunculus's pleasure, was achieved; the targeted solider trembled at his suggested fate, then, finding the strength to stand, staggered upwards and began to back away. Envy, in response, ran his arm through lightning and pierced the man with a steel-edged limb. The man flinched in pain, unable to move, or even to speak as his juices soiled the cloth around the wound.

"Wow, you sure are strong," Envy sneered. "If _I_ were stabbed like this, I would be _screaming_." A sadistic compulsion conducted his metal fingers, and they sewed through the insides of the man as his visage was swallowed in agony. Still, not a sound escaped his mouth. No sounds _could_ escape in the river of blood that crawled through his teeth.

"Envy…" Wrath sighed. He was in one of his moods again.

"Still nothing?" the androgyne asked. He frowned. "Well _gee_, we'll just have to fix that…" Envy ran his index-needle through a nerve ending just before one of the man's ribs. "_Won't we?!_"

A few crackles managed their way out of his throat, but nothing else emerged. "Damn you…" Envy forced his fingertips out of the man's chest, flinging tiny morsels of flesh to the floor. "_Speak_ when you're fucking _spoken to!_"

"Envy!" Wrath grabbed the sadist's shoulder.

"Don't interfere with this, dammit!" he snapped.

"No, Envy," the Führer said, "that's not it."

"_Then what?!_"

"You already broke his voice box."

The homunculus stared at Wrath, then at his victim. He wiggled his remaining fingers, and saw his neck jiggle a tad. "…Oh…" He pulled his fingers out of the officer and they smoothed into soft, pale hands. Envy stepped back, and just as the solider took to a small smile of relief, his head to torn off by the blade of Gluttony's teeth. Blood was slurped from the cusp of his disfigured neck, and the stomach fluids sucked up along with the spinal column as Gluttony moaned in the pleasure of fresh meat.

"You were saying?" Envy asked, returning to his original stance.

"I need a report to give to Father. It's been a few hours since Pride—" Wrath watched his teeth clench. "— has been over, and I've been sent to update the two of them on our current situation."

"Just how much did Pride tell you?"

"He ran a quick scope over the area to make sure there wasn't anything that needed to remain classified before we started investigating," Wrath said.

"You just _said_ that," Envy said, folding his arms. "I'm not one of your frickin' subordinates. Just get on with it."

"He said he found thirteen bodies," Wrath continued, "but he wasn't able to identify at least four them from under the rubble."

"And we're not magicians," Envy said, his frustration growing. "We've only got seven of the identifiable ones, including some of the Gurners. I've got some lower dogs working on where the others bodies were located, but we can't find 'em."

"You had better hope that they aren't our prized candidates," the Führer said. "You know what happens if they are."

Envy looked to his feet, avoiding Wrath's intensive stare. "I know."

"…This is the extent of my knowledge," he finished, and Envy leaned against a fallen support beam. A spot of Gluttony's meal flicked up to his cheek.

"Well, there isn't too much after that," the androgyne said, wiping it up with his finger. "We've found a lot of alchemized materials, some of which Major McSparkle-Fag attested to making, but nothing out of ordinary. Except…" He stopped.

"Except?" Wrath inquired.

"…except, well…" The homunculus kicked upright again, and started out of the ruins. "You should see it for yourself."

The Führer raised his eyebrows for a moment, but ultimately decided to follow him.

"Oh, right. Gluttony!" The mass looked over to Envy, how was slowly disappearing beyond the debris.

"Yes?" he replied, head cocked to the side.

"Don't leave any leftovers, 'kay?"

"Okay!" He finished the digestive system as the word came through his bloodied teeth, following up the organs with a sloppy bite into the soldier's right calf.

Wrath chuckled at the hindsight of it all, and started up behind Envy once more.

* * *

"This."

At first, Bradley's frown was short, customary, but after scanning the object of interest his frown stretched down to the farthest edges of his face. He had feared bad news at Envy's lead of evidence, concern sparked by the escorting of their "party" to the trunk of an evidence transporter, but he had been desperately hoping that his fears would not be realized.

And they were.

In the wake of a rising sun, there rested a box filled with broken wooden boards, each containing a piece of what appeared to have been identical circles.

"Alchemy boards," he finally said, and anger seethed at the back of his throat.

"We found a few others like them," the brigadier general said, "but there wasn't anything written on them. They were probably part of the reaction, too, but we have no proof to support that."

"…And you said that there was a _purple_ glow coming from the building… correct?"

"Yes," the subordinate replied, watching Bradley's fingers trace over the lines. "Oh, and try not to touch any of those without gloves, _sir_."

Wrath stared at the boards for while, his face reflecting extreme dissatisfaction. "…Do you have any idea what you've _done_, boy?"

The brigadier general paused. "What…?"

"Hey! We've got something!"

Both men flipped their heads behind them and found a mass of uniforms gathering around Pride's indicated area. One of the soldiers emerged form the crowd and approached the pair with a salute.

"Führer, sir! Brigadier General, sir! We've found more bodies!"

The two men exchanged looks, then advanced towards the crowd. "Alright then, let's see it."

They joined the horde's borders and a pathway was paved for them out of respect. As they came in further, the men were able to make out an arm, clad in black with a touch of blue and silver underneath, and then flesh; pale, but not unhealthily so. It seemed uncomfortably familiar. Uncomfortably, because it was haloed with blood and biceps that did not belong to the body itself.

At last they reached the center of the commotion, and Bradley motioned for the men excavating what remained to stand aside. He leaned down, his general close behind, and moved a large bulk of wood up from over the upper half of the body. The identity of the man was revealed to the rest of the unit, and shock swept the masses. Bradley froze at the find, terrified of the implications, but forced his finger to the victim's neck.

There was a pulse.

It was weak, which was only to be expected out of the circumstances, but there was in fact a consistent, undeniable pulse.

Relief overcame the man, but it was also accompanied by adrenaline. There probably wasn't much time before the pulse was to drop.

"He's alive! Get me an ambulance, now!" Soldiers scramble around at the command, having convinced themselves that there wasn't any hope to begin with, and a plethora of phone calls were made.

"And there should be more around him." Bradley stood and faced the general brigadier. "Start digging. I'll call for more help if we need it."

But all the subordinate could manage was a gape at the bloodied man. He watched as his red chest lifted up and down, his fingers twitching slowly in rhythm.

"Holy shit…"

Bradley looked down at the man, his exposed eyebrow raised a tad. "What?"

"There's just… no fucking way he could still be alive…!"

* * *

~ The office was vacant, for the most part. There existed but four pieces of furniture, varying from the tiny selection of a lamp, to a desk, then to a chair, and ending in a couch positioned just before the sole window masking the western wall. All was white; the desk and chair blotched the purity with glossy brown and black tones, and the offset was extended further into the room by a mountain of cardboard boxes in the eastern corner next to the white lamp. It was organized nothingness, progressing only at the discretion of the paperwork on the glossy brown desk.

The door clicked, then opened. From it, two men made their way into the office: one was short, elderly, yet full of liveliness as exemplified by his smirking mustache and mischievous glasses; the other taller, young, black hair slicing his forehead into multiple sections over his playful eyes and busied mouth. Both conversers were clad in a blue uniform, strung together with gold rope and stars, but the taller man chose to further weigh himself down inside of a black overcoat.

"Damn, and you'd think that they'd at least give you time to move in," Lieutenant General Grumman said, inspecting the boxes to their right. "Looks like you've barely touched them."

"Only for paperwork, sadly." Major Roy Mustang sighed, inspecting the vast nothing in which he worked. "Now they're just going to collect dust, it seems."

Grumman laughed. "That's certainly better than havin' to work on them!"

Roy grinned. "I suppose it is, sir." He walked over to his desk to collect some files, then moved behind to search for a container for them.

"You _suppose?_ Don't tell me…" The general eyed him. "You couldn't possibly be thinking of working _anyway_…"

Roy froze, then met Grumman's gaze.

"…could you?"

The youth paused, smiling sheepishly. "I suppose, sir."

"Ah, you dirty little bastard!" The man gave a hearty laugh. "You're going to kill everyone in town with that kind of attitude."

Roy chuckled. "If looks could kill."

"Not that your looks _could_ kill," Grumman said. "I, on the other hand, had to have been pickin' up at least three girls a week in my prime. Oughta make a move before the wrinkles grow in, kid."

"I've made plenty of moves myself, general," the youth countered, "in plenty of places."

"Ah, yes, your… 'informants,' were they?" The elder smiled. "Rather risqué form of research, don't you think?"

Roy shrugged. "More bang for my buck, sir."

"How much more?"

"That's classified."

"In what? your pants?"

The major shot him a sly turn of his lips, then walked over towards the mountain of boxes. "In my coding, in my notebook, in my pocket." He began to search the cardboard for a suitable file container. "So, yes, sir. In my pants."

"You're allowed to take them off for recreational purposes too, you know," Grumman said, leaning on Roy's desk. "Why don't you use the week to relax with a neighbor? It's not like they're going to let you go anywhere else, anyway."

"I appreciate the suggestion, sir," the youth said, "but I'm afraid I must decline."

"And why's that?"

"Stubbornness, sir," Roy said. "I refuse to quit working just because some ridiculous brass man decided to locked down Eastern Headquarters for seven days." He turned to him. "A small plague, sir, will not keep me from my studies."

"You think this is a 'small plague'?" Grumman asked. "Three tenths of Amestris would have to disagree with you there."

"Well, if it doesn't apply to me, then I'm not going to spend time worrying about it."

"Awfully selfish thing to be saying." Grumman approached the western window. From it, East City could be drunk in at the blink of an eye; rich brick buildings became busy cobblestone streets just after a border of midday shoppers and markets. Cars sped across the alleyways adjacent to teatime cafés, and everyone in its wake was stocking up on provisions and reading material. "…It's almost like they know that it's coming," he said after a while.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they did, sir." Roy pulled a briefcase out and returned to his desk. "Information around these parts has a way of becoming… _leaked_."

"Within three hours?"

"Within three hours, sir," the major said, "one can disconnect trade and travel from the third most populated city in the country and condemn all those who have not already locked themselves away from the disease to death." He sealed the files away. "And I do not intend on becoming a part of that."

Grumman looked at him. "You're running away?"

"I prefer to call it '_recreational_ leave,' sir."

"Aha! Smart boy. I'd join you, but these bones are too old for pokin' pussies." Grumman smiled. "Besides, I can barely make it pass eight o' clock, let alone a full round."

Roy grinned. "I never said that I was going with sexual intentions, sir."

"You didn't need to." Grumman took a seat on the white couch. "So where you off to? Dublith? South City? Vegas?"

"Where?"

"Nowhere." The general folded his arms behind his head. "Just name your place, kid. I can get you a mistress in any town you choose!"

Roy sat down in his own chair, a tiny smirk upon his face. "Any woman in my age group, sir?"

"Hey, they have daughters."

The major grinned. "I suppose they would, sir."

"Hm. You and your 'supposing'." Grumman frowned. "Just tell me. Surely you had someplace in mind."

"As a matter of fact, I do. Perhaps you've heard of if, General." Roy folded his hands just under his chin, and rested his head upon the support of his forearms. "It's a little town just south of here." His lips perked, yet his eyes were stained with malice. "Resembool."

Grumman stared at him for a long time, then allowed his vision to fall to his lap. He shook his head. "This is about _him_, isn't it?"

Roy made a face. "And if it is?"

The elder sighed. "You know, one of these days this 'vengeance' of yours is gonna nip you in the ass."

"I am aware," the man said. "I simply need to beat vengeance to it." With this, he stood.

"You leaving for the day?" Grumman asked.

"I want to beat the crowds before everyone's chased out of Headquarters for the week." Roy shuffled up his things up into his arms, and the briefcase was swung over his shoulder.

"Not a bad idea," the general said, and joined him. "Before you go, though."

Roy turned back toward the man, his legs firmly placed forwards. "Yes, sir?"

Grumman paused a moment, then spoke. "Riza Hawkeye."

Roy cocked his head. "Who?"

"She's—"

The men were interrupted by a knock at the door. Roy bit his lip, then glanced towards Grumman for approval. He extended his hand in invitation, and Roy responded, "Who is it?"

"Second Lieutenant Garfiel , sir~! Requesting permission to enter, siiiiiir~ !"

The flamboyancy raped the poor major's eardrums, but nevertheless, the door was opened, and the man skipped inside. "Granted," Roy sighed as spontaneous flowers tapped the door shut.

"Major, sir," the lieutenant sang, "I have the map and automobile routes you requested! Where would you like them?"

"Here, I got 'em." Roy stuffed the files into his free arm. "Thanks a lot."

"With pleasure, sir!"

The youth sighed. "Of course." The two stared at each other for a (-n awkward) moment until Roy finally waved his hand. "…Dismissed."

"Sir!" Garfiel opened the door, then skipped out of the room. Roy put his foot against it to prevent closing, and faced Grumman. "If you'll excuse me, General."

"Of course. I'll lock up for you," the elder said. He held the door open, and Roy began proceed out of the portal, but stopped himself just short of a complete exit.

"'Riza Hawkeye,' was it?" he asked, his face unseen.

Grumman chuckled. "Just remember to enjoy yourself every now and again, will you?"

Roy smiled. "Goodbye, sir."

The door was closed.

* * *

"Oh? And that's what the train tickets're for?"

The woman took a stab at her filet mignon dinner. The dark ambience of the restaurant allowed for only a sliver of candlelight to give color to the meal, which, she presumed, was instituted to give off a secretive, romantic feel for the establishment. But like most small town restaurants, despite the red décor and piano player at the corner of the room, it failed at its job.

"Yes," she responded after a moment. A fork slid into her mouth, and chewing commenced, much to the annoyance of the man sitting across the table. She giggled, recognizing his thirst for an elaboration, and allowed the flavorful cut to linger over her tongue before she swallowed and continued. "King said he wanted to go there to start a little project."

"Project?" the man asked. His shades glistened as he lean forward a tad, creating the very much-desired effect of secrecy. He wanted it to appeal, and the woman slid a smile, confirming his success. "What project?" he asked again.

"Something special," she said. "Seems like someone there's caught his interest."

"Huh. Is that so?" The man took a firm stab at his chicken marsala and stared at it. "Really should've gotten the steak."

"You should've." The woman cut a piece, pressing the knife down with her pale, slender fingers. She raised the morsel. "Wanna bite?"

"Hell yes." The man opened his gate of sharpened teeth and the meat was delivered to the tip of his tongue; he bit. It tasted rather exquisite for such a small sample, making it well worth the price (though, it was for that specific reason that he did not order it: too expensive). "Mhmm," he moaned, "delicious."

"I am," the woman said, retracting her fork.

"You are," he concurred, then reached for his wine. "And our target?"

"Even more so, but then, King wouldn't go into details."

The man took a sip of his drink. It was a little too meek for the meal. "Might be personal."

"Might be."

"A lover?"

"Perhaps."

"But didn't win the money in the divorce?"

Chuckles sounded. "Sounds a little too typical a scenario for our King, doesn't it?"

The man laughed. "It wouldn't be typical if didn't apply to anyone. Someone's gotta fit the bill for these things."

"I suppose…" The woman glanced to the side. "And speaking off which…"

The pair watched as they were approached by an almost suave and suited server. He stopped just before the edge of the table, and placed down a small black book. "Your check," he said.

"Thank you, kind sir," the woman said, smiling.

The man took a peak inside the bill, and his face was smothered in distress. A single lock of his flawless black hair was unhinged.

"Goddamn it, _Lucille_," he said, "I told you not to spend so much. Look how far we went over. I didn't even order any dessert!"

"I'm sorry, _George,_" the woman replied. "But I simply couldn't _help_ myself! _Honest._"

"And how will you be paying, sir?" the waiter asked.

"Actually…" The man pulled his server's jacket an inch closer to the table, slipped a revolver against his chest. "We won't be."

"Don't scream now," the woman said, "or we'll have to detonate the whole restaurant."

"That's… that's impossible…!" the waiter gasped, holding back pitiful squeaks of fear. "You're bluffing…aren't you? You've only been at your table… this whole time…! How could you've—"

The barrel dug deeper into the server's abdomens. "Now, now," the man said with a wide, unsettling grin, "_there's no such thing as impossible_."

The man thought the waiter's eyes were going to explode from within their sockets. He froze, only tiny shivers rocking his hands and knees, and managed but a single word from his chattering teeth:

"_Greed_…"

"Correct," Greed said. "Now, if you'll excuse us…" Greed and his guest stood from their seats. "We have some business to take care of." The man retracted his weapon, and the two walked out of the restaurant back door, leaving their frightened server to his own accord.

"That was rather cruel of you," the woman said, walking into the sunlit sidewalk. "You didn't need to pull a gun on him."

"True," Greed said, "but I don't really want to hear that from Lust, the gunslinger girl."

Lust giggled. "Interesting way to put in. Although, I understand that you have your own addictions."

A flash emerged from the restaurant windows, followed instantly by a massive explosion that consumed the restaurant behind them. The aftermath spilled pieces for fire onto the structure and vomited smoke onto the cloudless sky.

"…I might," Greed responded.

"It's rather unhealthy," Lust said, fixing her disheveled hair.

"What can I say?" The man smiled. "I love to blow shit up."

"At least you waited for after the main course," Lust said. "I don't think we'll be getting anything for the rest of the day."

"Not unless Gluttony brings some of those Cretian sausages along for the ride."

"That's assuming that he won't _eat_ them first."

"…Damn," Greed sighed. "I hate it when you're right."

"I usually am."

"Oh, shut up, you old hag."

The woman flinched at the word. "…I'll call I cab, assuming you didn't scare any away."

"I probably did," he laughed. "Let's just get out of here before we're spotted."

The woman chuckled to herself, rather entertained by the whole ordeal. She imagined thousands of tiny cars jumping on their hind wheels and hopping out of town. "Yes, let's. Perhaps this time we'll actually make it on time." ~

* * *

_Well, that was pretty fucking long. It's all pretty fucking long. Hope your eyes don't hurt. I might recommend reading this in parts._

_Also, Envy's little "fuck with the Flame Colonel by using Maria Ross as a scapegoat for Hughes' death" plan didn't actually include Lust – it just so happened that Lust was "dating for data" at the time._

_Anyway, stick around! There are ninjas next chapter! And I guarantee they're not the kind you're imagining! : D_

_SO REVIEW. Or there will be no ninjas._


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